Shedder

For the past two years I was lucky enough to be living in a big ol' house overlooking a nice piece of water. On a clear day you could squint at Stonington. It was comfy, and luxurious, and temporary. I learned a bunch, including how to drive a Model A, how to roll start a Jeep Willy, how to make a mean lemon curd, and the rudimentary means of navigating my island- socially, geographically, personally. The two years of steady pay, housing, and opportunity to gain a foothold on the island was an unplanned advance in my life.

I was looking for a decent job in the Portland area, where the young and the chic of Maine abide- where I would stay with my alpha-careered boyfriend. Then a job that I had applied for and envisioned carrying out on Peaks Island (fifteen minutes from Portland), was available only on Isle au Haut- a mere seven miles over water from Deer Isle, where I'd grown up. Isle au Haut is also three hours of shitty roads distant from Portland, followed by a forty minute boatride.

The job market was tight. And I am particular about the work I do. More particular than my partner could understand, which is why I moved forty minutes beyond the end of nowhere rather than work intake at the hospital where he doctored, which was a convenient five minutes walk from his apartment. I spent a year straddling the divide between the two places, then shuffled off the commitment coil. He could understand the island as a smart real estate investment, but he couldn't appreciate my immersion in the community. "For this to work you will have to make some sacrifices." He was right. Once I sacrificed the relationship on the alter of my identity as a downeaster, I felt much better. The second year, I was able to grow accustomed to this place- a year cataloged on A View of the Thoroughfare.

My view is no longer of the Isle au Haut Thoroughfare and Merchant's Row beyond that. I've grown out of my original island digs, which were tied to a two-year contract with AmeriCorps. In December, I moved to a new house, with a new partner. In the course of the move, I was even able to get my hands on what was previously the holy grail of island amenities: a post office box. It is no longer my job is that keeps me on Isle au Haut; quite the opposite- my current job is on Deer Isle. It's now my life that holds me fast here (at least as fast as one can ever cling to a place where economic survival is marginal).

Up to this point, I always saw time in chunks of a few years: two years for boarding school; four years of college; a few years in the work force; a couple of years in grad school; two full terms as an island fellow. Each enrollment or employment meant a new home, new schedule, a new host of duties. Once again, I am in state of metamorphasis. I've sloughed off the shell of the Island Fellowship. Now I just get to be an islander.